


This, Too

by orphan_account



Category: Original Work
Genre: Asphyxiation, Blood and Gore, Dark, F/F, Fae & Fairies, Happiness with a Tragic Ending, Horror, Minor Character Death, Near Death, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:11:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Like a sunflower, she cannot help but chase the light; as she warms, she knows that it only means that she will feel Winter's bite more keenly.





	This, Too

**Author's Note:**

> Please heed the tags. There are more that I maybe should have added, but I refrained because they didn't quite fit. If you have concerns, check out the end notes.

"Someone I loved once gave me  
a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand  
that this, too, was a gift."

Mary Oliver, "The Uses of Sorrow"

 

I met her in the woods between her kingdom and mine, where the trees all looked as if they had been set ablaze, and the dry earth was littered with countless fallen leaves. I sat in the highest bough of a particularly tall tree, enjoying the stillness and silence of a world in the early stages of its death, when _she_ appeared.

She was a vision in a dress like flames that licked their way up her lithe, willowy figure. She picked her way gracefully across the packed dirt, deliberately stepping on each fallen leaf she encountered, and seemingly content to wander aimlessly among the trees. She hummed a song I didn’t recognize, and though she was not very loud, I knew that a voice like hers would make angels weep. The few birds that sat on the branches above her (though not in my tree; they were instinctively fearful of winter sidhe) replied in kind to her humming, and she laughed in delight. Her smile brightened the whole forest.

I leaned forward, riveted by this enchanting goddess of fire and joy, reluctant to tear my eyes away from her for even a second. The bough creaked in protest, and her head snapped up, her cat-like amber eyes immediately finding me, bare as the branches were. She aimed that supernova smile at me, and I knew in that moment that I would be hers from then on.

In the next moment, she had begun to ascend my tree, and it wasn’t long before she reached me. She held out a hand toward me, clearly expecting me to shake it. I hesitated only briefly before taking her hand in my own, admiring the contrast of her milk chocolate skin against my corpse-like pallor. Her hand was almost so warm as to be painful, and I delighted in the sight of my palm slowly turning pink. Belatedly, I realized that I had held her hand for so long as to be awkward, and I reluctantly relinquished the appendage with a sheepish grin. She giggled at me from behind her other hand.

“I’m Goldie,” she said, still grinning at me. “Who are you?”

“Lola,” I replied. “I didn’t think summer sidhe liked this place.”

Goldie shrugged. “Most don’t, but I find there’s a certain beauty to it.”

“Death?”

“Is that what this place means to you?” Goldie asked, tilting her head slightly, her honey-brown curls distracting me as they tumbled onto her bare shoulder.

“Look around you. Everything is slowly dying—preparing for the cold grip of winter, when the world truly dies,” I said, ignoring the slight twinge of shame that I always felt when I thought about my role in this world.

“Making room for new life, is what I say,” Goldie declared brightly. “This place isn’t about death; it’s about _harmony_.”

“Harmony?”

She nodded, curls bouncing. “Summer and Winter converge here; life and death both have the right to be here. It’s the one place Underhill where things are perfectly balanced—where your people and mine stand on equal footing.”

I shivered, though the air was practically balmy compared to the environment I was accustomed to. “If my mother were to hear you talking like that…”

Goldie’s grin was even brighter than all her previous ones, and her eyes flickered like flames. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

I laughed for what must have been the first time in a century.

. . .

“Where have you been, child?” came a deceptively sweet voice, and I froze with my hand on the rail, one foot on the step above me. I closed my eyes and slowly let out my next breath, trying to remain as still as possible.

“Just out in the woods, mother.”

“Kestrel couldn’t find you,” said the voice, and though the words were a simple statement of fact, her tone held a severe warning. “Try again, Lola-dear.”

“I was in the woods—in the between-place. I never crossed the border; I swear it,” I said, pleading silently for her to let me go without further question.

There was a long, tense moment where I waited for the other shoe to drop.

“Go, then,” she said dismissively, and I breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “Do not attempt to hide from me again.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it, mother,” I said softly, bowing my head. After a moment, I felt the icy grasp of her power dissipate, and I raced up the stairs to my room.

. . .

Goldie and I met again not three days later.

“Have you ever seen this place turn to spring?” Goldie asked me, bumping her shoulder against mine where we leaned back against a magnificent oak tree.

I shook my head, huffing in frustration when some of my hair got caught on one of my horns. I fumbled blindly, only able to see the offending strand out of the corner of my eye. Goldie laughed, reaching out to help me. She unwound the hair from my horn with no trouble at all, and ran her fingers through the oil spill-black curtain to smooth it.

“Not a fan of flowers?” she asked, and it took me a moment to realize she was referring to my earlier response. “They bloom in just about every color you can imagine.”

“I’m sure it’s lovely,” I said softly, then dropped my voice to a near whisper. “Mother says spring is too warm.”

Goldie made a dismissive sound. “That’s ridiculous. This place is just as cold in spring as it is now. Maybe even more so, with the rain.”

Goldie continued running her fingers through my hair from root to end. It was so long that it pooled on the ground around me, falling against my thigh every time she let it go, and I fought the urge to shiver whenever her hand brushed against my bare leg. She made me feel so warm that I was certain my cheeks must be pink.

I looked up at her and smiled, and she smiled back at me. Then, feeling mischievous, I reached up and plucked at one of her many ringlets, watching it spring back into shape. She laughed, her eyes dancing, then sparking with a mischief of their own.

Suddenly, she stood, extending a hand to help me to my feet.

“Race you to our tree!” she exclaimed, and it was the only warning I got before she took off through the woods. Of course, I had no choice but to follow.

She shifted forms as we raced; sometimes the woman in the dress made of fire, at other times a magnificent red fox. I decided to shift forms as well; it had been so long since I last spread my wings. It was after I had just made the transition that she came to a halt, staring at me with fascination evident in her gaze.

She knelt beside me and lifted one hand to touch me before she paused, a question clear in her expression. I replied by pressing my scaly head into her open palm.

She gently stroked the space between my curled horns, then all way down to the tip of my tail, an almost reverent look on her face. I was surprised by her reaction to me; I didn’t think my appearance was particularly noteworthy.

I had chosen the smaller version of my form—about the size of a large house cat—so as to be on even footing with Goldie as we raced. My scales were the same oil spill-black as my hair, and my eyes remained the same in either form; ice blue with slit pupils. My leathery wings were just barely large enough to let me hover a few feet off the ground.

“How does a child of Winter end up with the body of a creature of fire?” Goldie mused aloud, and I curled in on myself; the question opened old wounds. She immediately took notice of my discomfort and hastily apologized, then pressed a kiss to the spot between my horns. I was so startled by the gesture that I accidentally shifted back, and she laughed when my head hit the bottom of her chin.

I noticed that in our current positions, I was slightly further down the trail than she was. I glanced up at her, schooling my features into the most innocent, wide-eyed expression I could manage.

“I guess that means I won the race, then,” I said sweetly, with a slight shrug of my shoulders. Goldie laughed and narrowed her eyes, feigning annoyance.

“Not a chance, Snowflake. We were both disqualified.”

“Rematch?” I asked, offering my hand. She shook it firmly, clearly struggling to keep the serious face she was making.

“Try to keep up this time,” she said with a wink, and we both took off together.

. . .

We met almost every day over the next few months. We played like children among the trees—countless hours of hide-and-seek, tag, and make-believe. We played harmless tricks on each other and the occasional passing faerie. I cherished every moment with her, and when we were apart, I waited anxiously for the next moment that we would be together.

We watched as new life began to flourish in the woods, sprouting from the earth all around us. Goldie was especially excited for my first spring, and when I spotted a little purple flower at the base of our tree—the first one that I had ever seen in my long, long existence—she was so overcome by her joy for me that she grabbed me by the shoulders and pressed a firm kiss to my lips.

A wave of warmth spread over my face, and I should have hated it, but I found that I only wanted more. When Goldie pulled back, her expression was shocked, and she opened her mouth to speak—probably to apologize—but she didn’t have the chance to say anything before I leaned in and returned her kiss.

Thankfully, this development didn’t change our relationship overmuch. We still played among the trees and had our fun, but we also kissed frequently, and when we grew tired, we would find a soft patch of grass and lie curled together like kittens, legs tangled and hands clasped tightly.

We were arranged as such one clear afternoon when Goldie’s fingers crept toward the edge of my skirt. It was a flimsy thing; a short sarong made of snow held together by magic, and it was the only article of clothing I ever wore. Goldie’s warm hands threatened to melt it.

She met my eyes, clearly asking for permission, and I pulled at her arm until she rested above me. Pinned beneath her warm weight, I found the only bliss that I would ever know.

. . .

When I woke, I lay beside my lover on a bed of grass under the trees, gazing up at the clear blue sky through the branches and lush green leaves. Our fingers were still tangled at our sides, and I relished the feeling even as a knot of dread built in the pit of my stomach. I recalled a moment not so long before—a mere century had passed since it took place, and still my heart echoed with the pain of it.

~.~

_I went to meet my mom in our usual spot, at the same time that we always met, only to find that she was not there. I waited for several minutes, but she did not show, and I began to pace around the snow-covered clearing anxiously. After what must have been at least an hour, a wandering phouka happened upon me and attempted to lead me astray. I ignored the being, but as I turned to walk away it spoke to me._

_“Mummy dearest is in a spot of trouble with the Queen, you know—but I wouldn’t lose my head about it!” The creature cackled, then vanished with a puff of smoke, it’s words leaving me with a chill unlike the kind I was accustomed to. I set off toward the Winter Palace at a run, at one point leaping as high as I could on two legs and shifting forms in midair, taking the shape of an enormous black dragon._

_I reached the palace in no time, returning to my human-like form as I landed, and I raced toward the throne room where I knew the White Queen would be waiting. I burst through the doors and came skidding to a halt, brought down to my knees at the sight before me._

_“_ No _,” I sobbed, clutching at the lifeless body of the woman who had given birth to me. I could not help but stare at her head where it lay a few feet away. Her violet eyes were dull, and her silky black hair was soaked and matted with the blood that pooled on the ground. I cried until my eyes ran dry, and all the while, the Queen watched from where she perched on her throne._

_Finally, when she had decided that I had grieved enough, she had the body removed from the room. When she spoke, her voice was as cold as the endless winter she commanded._

_“You knew that you were never to meet her. She knew it as well, yet you both thought to defy me. Let this serve as a warning—next time you dare to cross me, I will not be so kind.”_

_I nodded, wiping away the tears that had frozen on my cheeks. As suddenly as a striking snake, I felt clawed fingernails dig into my chin, and the Queen forced me to meet her ice-white gaze._

_“Do not take me for a fool, Bronagh,” she said, her calm tone belied by the rage in her eyes, and I flinched at her use of my true name. “I am your queen, and you are_ mine _; I know your mind, your heart—do not even dare to_ think _of disobedience. I can do much worse than beheading.”_

_Her nails dug into my chin so hard they pierced the skin, and my blood dripped down to pool in her palm, where it immediately froze. She ignored it._

_“Am I clear enough, Lola-dear?”_

_I swallowed against the lump in my throat, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath._

_“Yes, mother.”_

~.~

I was startled out of my memories by a gentle tap on my nose.

“Where were you, love? You seemed so far away,” Goldie said, concern evident in every line of her body.

I smiled weakly. “Would you like to hear a story? It’s not a very happy one, but it is important.”

“Alright,” she replied slowly, evidently worried but willing to play along.

I took a deep breath to brace myself, drawing strength from the look in Goldie’s eyes.

“Once, there was a woman—a child of Winter—with pitch black hair and eyes as white as ice. Her name was Darcy, and she was beautiful and deadly, as all winter sidhe should be—until, that is, she met a man in the woods. He was a child of Summer—a reckless, mischievous man named Brayan who could take the form of a magnificent red dragon.

“At first, they hated each other, and every time they happened to meet among the trees they argued bitterly and played terrible tricks on one another, but they were strangely reluctant to do any real harm to each other. When the woman saved the man from certain death at the hands of a particularly clever redcap, their relationship was forever altered. They began to fall in love.

“They met in secret over several months, and they still bickered and played tricks, but their affection for one another was clear—and it only became more apparent when Darcy fell pregnant.

“The White Queen loathes the Summer Kingdom, as you know, and she decreed long ago that the children of Summer and Winter were never to meet. When she discovered Darcy's transgression, she was furious; Darcy—her right hand—had betrayed her.

“The Queen would probably have killed the couple then and there, were it not for the fact that Darcy was also her sister. She decided to be lenient, and declared that she would raise the child; Darcy would not be allowed a single moment with her daughter.

“Once the baby had been born, Darcy was banished from the kingdom with instructions to never return. She tried to go to her lover, but they found that it was too painful for the both of them, and they parted ways.

“The child grew under the 'care' of the Queen, who did not hide her opinions about the abomination she was raising. The girl was nearly three thousand years old before she found her true mother. Despite Darcy’s numerous warnings, the girl wouldn’t stay away. She simply had to know the woman who had birthed her, and she soaked up every story she could about the man who helped create her.

“But then, the Queen learned of these meetings, and she had her sister beheaded in the throne room, for the girl to find when she returned to the palace. The girl learned that day that her love is a dangerous thing—that to give her heart is to take a life—and she refused to ever love another.”

I paused, looking deep into Goldie’s topaz fox-eyes.

“Until she met a woman in the woods—a woman made of light and joy.”

Goldie was quiet for a very long time.

“How did she know?” Goldie asked softly, finally breaking the heavy silence.

“What?”

“How did the Queen know that the child was half summer sidhe?”

“Oh,” I said, surprised at this line of questioning. “I imagine it was the eyes.”

“The baby’s eyes?” Goldie asked, her brow furrowing in confusion.

“No, the mother’s. Her eyes were white at first, but as her lover brought warmth into her heart and soul, they shifted to blue, then a brilliant violet.”

“Ah, I see.”

There was something odd about her tone, and I tilted my head curiously.

“What is it, Goldie?”

“Nothing,” she said softly, and her smile was touched by sadness—something I had never seen before. It only amplified my alarm. “I’m just tired, love. Let’s rest a bit more before we both have to return home.”

I agreed reluctantly, my stomach tying itself in knots. It was a long time before I finally drifted off, and I suspect it was the same for Goldie.

. . .

A few days had passed without any word from Goldie about when we would next meet. When seven days had passed, I finally let the dread building in my heart push me into action, and I sent a message for her via crow, in the method we had established long before.

Two days later, the crow lay dead on my windowsill, its neck snapped. The letter was missing, and there was no reply.

Eventually I made the journey to the tree where we had first met. I slept there for three days before I was finally forced to come to the conclusion that Goldie had decided to cut ties with me in order to spare her own life. I was heartbroken, but I couldn’t blame her, and I knew that it was probably for the best, in the long run. I wept silently as I made my way back to the palace, my tears freezing on my cheeks.

. . .

I was walking past the throne room toward the stairs when the Queen’s voice rang out.

“Lola-dear, come here a moment. I have something to give to you.”

I turned toward the throne room and placed my hand on the door, prepared to push it open, when I hesitated; unease suddenly curled through my stomach, making me feel shaky and sick. The Queen cleared her throat sharply, and I reluctantly pushed open the door.

The Queen sat perched on her throne, the sharp white nails of one hand clicking impatiently against an armrest, while the other hand appeared to be holding a scroll of some sort. Her snow-white hair contrasted brilliantly where it fell over the almost blood-red fur of the scarf wrapped around her neck. She beckoned me forward with one clawed finger, handing me the scroll when I was close enough.

I unrolled the piece of parchment and began to read.

> _Lola,_
> 
> _By the time you receive this letter I will probably be dead. I’m not quite sure what the Queen will do to me, but I am certain that this is the only way to save you._
> 
> _I looked into your eyes, and I knew that I could not live as your father does; knowing that your mother paid such a heavy price for something for which they were both responsible. Knowing that he could have done something to prevent it._
> 
> _I met him once, a long time ago. He was a sad man, lost in his dreams of a life with his 'precious Darcy' and his 'little sunshine girl'. You are so much better than the child he imagined. I wish I'd had the chance to tell him that._
> 
> _No matter what happens to me, know that I did it out of love. Even when I’m gone, I hope you’ll never forget what we created together—a harmony with which even the most beautiful spring day or autumn night could never hope to compare._
> 
> _All my love,_
> 
> _Goldie_

My eyes swam with tears, and several dripped onto the parchment, causing the ink to spread and distorting some of the words. I jumped a little in surprise when I felt something soft touch my bare shoulders. I looked up to see that the Queen was wrapping her scarf around my neck.

Realizing where the red fur must have come from, I fell to my knees, feeling sick. My stomach was empty, and I heaved uselessly at her feet. My fingers scrabbled at the thick fur around my throat, but the more I struggled, the tighter it constricted. I kept trying anyway; I would rather have been strangled to death than forced to live another moment with the monster looking down on me from her throne.

“I made her tell me her true name before I slit her throat and gutted her,” the Queen said conversationally. “Would you like to know what it was?”

I shook my head violently, still tugging at the scarf and feeling viciously pleased when it tightened further.

“It was ‘Orlagh’.”

Black spots slowly began to obstruct my vision.

“A lovely name, don’t you think?”

I felt like my head was about to burst any second.

“It means ‘golden princess’—obviously the source of her chosen name.”

My body screamed for air, and I opened my mouth to gasp uselessly—an action that was more instinctive than conscious; I was perfectly content to die in that moment.

“It’s a shame really. She was quite beautiful. Even _I_ could see that.”

Those were the last words I heard as I slipped into unconsciousness.

. . .

I knelt at the foot of the throne at the Queen’s left side, my legs folded underneath me. Her hand was heavy on the back of my head, and my hair fell forward to obscure my utterly expressionless face. My throat was a mess of mottled blue-black skin, though the bruises were partially obscured by the inch-wide leather collar the Queen had fashioned out of Goldie’s pelt.

“I don’t think you’ll be eager to disobey me a third time, will you Lola-dear?” she said, her tone full of smug pleasure.

“No, mother,” I rasped, feeling as cold and barren inside as the lands over which the White Queen presided.

Her nails dug into my scalp until the skin broke, and she pulled my head back roughly. I did not flinch or make a sound. My placid gaze was fixed on the ceiling of the palace high above us. A few drops of blood trickled down my horns, trailing dark red lines across the pure onyx. It would leave a permanent stain—a mark created by the foul, twisted magic in the air.

The Queen leaned over the side of her throne, nails still clutching at my head, and extended her right index finger to rest on my left cheek almost gently, before she dug her nail in there, too, sending a rivulet of blood down the side of my cheek to pool in the shell of my ear. She pulled at my face with her finger, forcing me to meet her eyes, then leaned down to press her lips to mine. The touch was brief, but I felt ice begin to creep across my face and down my throat, and I fought the urge to panic.

The Queen laughed—a horrible, grating sound that sent shivers down my spine—and further angled my face so as to lick the blood from my cheek and ear, before she released me and patted my other cheek with the bloody hand that had been on my head. I tucked my chin to my chest and sat there, eyes closed, as the ice slowly crept into my soul until I felt nothing.

A pause.

A breath.

A final, stuttering heartbeat, then—

Eyes as white as snow snapped open for the first time.

**Author's Note:**

> Most of the violence happens 'off-screen'. A character is beheaded off-screen, and the state of the character's corpse is described, though not in extreme detail. Another character (who shape-shifts into a fox) is made into a fur scarf off-screen. The death of the fox-character is briefly and callously described, in a manner similar to how a hunter would speak of their quarry. The main character is nearly strangled to death by the fur scarf, then forced to wear a collar made of the same pelt. In a show of ownership and control, the main character's evil 'adoptive mother' (if you can call her that) likes to use her sharp nails to scratch the main character until she draws blood. In one scene, she licks blood from the main character's cheek, and curses her by kissing her on the lips.
> 
> Thanks for reading. Let me know what you thought, if you are so inclined.


End file.
